


i am nothing, i was something

by legatosservant



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Also this goes without saying but everyone's gay please and thank you, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Both Byleths, Drama, F/F, F/M, M!Byleth and F!Byleth are in this as Byleth and Bylese respectively, M/M, Multi, Once the story gets going there will be more specific ships, Polyamory, Reader is Not My Unit | Byleth, and dismantle classism and religious imperialism while we do it!, in this au we save everyone, will add more tags as the story goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legatosservant/pseuds/legatosservant
Summary: “talk to the faith / go through the flame / born to die / accept your fate, oh, your fate”Wars produce martyrs, battles produce idols, and those on the sidelines are left weighed down with corpses and ghosts they’ll never fully understand the extent of. When you categorize human beings as “bodies,” you stop seeing them as people. Each death, a person is lost. Someone full of thoughts and feelings and ideas and a vastness deep inside that no one will ever have again.“i don’t know what to trust / just so pathetic / aren’t you feeling that / you are, you are”You will shoulder every corpse you find. You will carry each and every one of the fathomless ghosts inside you. And, all of Fodlan as your witness, you will do the impossible.“everywhere every night / oh your cruel fate / my dear sing ‘til i sleep / let me rest in peace”
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Reader, Everyone/Everyone, Reader/Various, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Reader, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc/Reader/Claude von Reigan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	1. all walls have ears

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I wrote this for one of my best friends and greatest inspirations, Hana, because she really loves Claude and also because I think there can never be enough Reader-Inserts! Especially multi-chaptered ones!
> 
> I went through this a few times but I may have missed a few words or grammatical errors, I apologize profusely if you run into any of them.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> story title and breaks in summary come from [Fate by Mad Soul Child](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_AJT1vGgF8)

Kings shouldn’t have the ability to wage war.

Though, if you were to scratch at that concept and peer beneath the surface, you would be shown an even greater truth: There should be no Kings. Divine rule did _not_ make one an effective ruler, it did _not_ make one a noble leader, and it sure as hell did not mean they would value the lives of any in their service.

Lives are considered even less than “things” when those in power refer to people as “bodies.” Skirmishes, battles, wars, deaths—lives laid to waste with the same ease as throwing away a broken sword. You are useful as a solider, as a knight, as a meat sack… as a body. Useful until you weren’t, worthwhile until used up. How can you see the depth and currents of the people you send to die? Humans with thoughts and feelings and _lives_ , used and tossed around as if they were toys on a placemat. War convinces you that those who die are simply _numbers_ and not what they truly are--individuals with intricate and full lives that were cut into nothing.

_What is a man to a King? What is a King to a God? What is a God to a non-believer?_

What a simple way to categorize the depth and intricacies of humanity. How utterly foolish it is to pedestal yourself above another with lofty, bloated titles.

All corpses decay the same.

What was it he’d told you? Your step-father, perhaps the most bloated of them all, for all his wisdom and maneuvers could not fathom a world where he could be measured to any. His astuteness amounted to little more than posturing, even when he spoke with you.

“Any noble in the Leicester Alliance would give near anything to ensure their child could attend Garreg Mach.” You can still remember the way the opalescent buttons on his collar reflected in the light and struck at your eyes. “The heir to House Riegan will be the house leader.” 

A statement, brief and sure, laced with words and thoughts unsaid.

“Wonderful, I’m sure we’ll work excellently together.”

 _All walls have ears, all one can say means measures and leagues more than simply what you hear._ How proud he was of his own observations, swollen with the spoils acquired through his own schemes. Schemes he laid at your feet, schemes you would sooner throttle him with.

“There will be a dinner in the coming days, where all of the families whose children will be enrolling will be in attendance. I’m certain that you will make a wonderful impression.”

Of course you would.

You still remember the first time you saw him, Claude von Riegan. Exactly how you’d heard him described, all smiles and touches and words woven into circles. It felt surreal being around him, around the others who would join you at the monastery, and it made you oppressively aware of how long it had been since you’d last interacted with people your own age.

“You would be Lady [Your Name], of House Sommer, I presume.” His voice was slick, coated in emotion but you couldn’t precisely comprehend what that emotion could’ve been.

“I would, it’s wonderful to finally met you, Lord Riegan.”

“Wow, _Lord_ Riegan, I suppose I could get used to that.”

“You’d certainly let it go to your head, if anything.” Lorenz Gloucester, stiff but somehow playing at aloofness, regards you quickly before he goes back to nursing his drink.

“Come on, Lorenz, don’t make me look bad in front of our new housemate!” Claude shoves lightly at the boy beside him, a smile catching you soon after. “I was surprised to hear you would be joining us, House Sommer rose to prominence in such a short amount of time, after all.” His words, like all the pomp and circumstance of the Alliance, was laced with things left unsaid.

You smiled, but you wonder now if the gesture managed to reach your eyes. “I suppose I would be the reason for that.”

His expression softens slightly, it occurs to you now that that was the first display of genuine emotion you’d seen from him that night. “That would seem to be the case.”

What you can’t quite recall is how you managed to isolate him from the others.

You can recall talking with him, watching as the honeyed words that fell from his lips would cause something to stir around in the deep dark of his eyes. Surprised by how despite being so boisterous, so sickly sweet, you can clearly remember feeling like he was trustworthy. Or, maybe, you just had hoped and convinced yourself of this because you knew how much you needed him.

What was it you whispered to him? You couldn’t fathom a guess, but you still got him alone.

 _All walls have ears_.

For that one time, you had hoped beyond hope that that wouldn’t come back to haunt you.

You’d both entered a room, Claude had started to say something in a tone that coated your skin, before you unceremoniously pulled a small, worn stack of letters from beneath your clothes.

Claude’s lithe expression snagged the moment his eyes landed on the hasty script on the letters. All at once, his entire stance changed, stiff and alert where it had once been aloof and relaxed. He seemed to pour over every inch of those papers, all-bright green eyes seemingly committing every pen stroke to memory.

Your hands clamored around the fabric of your dress, watching as Claude’s face never gave ground to what was whirling around in his mind as he read. You tried to study him, fervently tried to watch how the light caught the whites of his eyes, the flush of his skin under the faint glow of the room.

“Well…” he starts, his chest blooming as he lifted his face to you, “seems the church is up to things of a more dubious nature than would be appropriate of those who claim to be in the service of a “Goddess.”

“They need to be taken down.”

Brazen, foolish even, of you to just lay before him. Dangerous, to be sure, but Claude merely pauses, expression soft and reserved, before looking up at you through his lashes.

“One King, one Alliance, one Emperor--they’re nothing. They’ve had _untold centuries_ to get to where they are… to cultivate that kind of unchecked power.” The words nearly die on your lips, you’d never given yourself the freedom to speak those words out loud. Not around here, not anymore.

“What, exactly, are you trying to say?” There in his eyes, a look, that light in his gaze that feels like it wants to drown you.

“You’re a schemer.”

“Baseless rumors.”

“You’re have the most charming tongue in all of Fódlan.”

“Oh, now I’d _love_ to know where _that_ rumor comes from.”

“You don’t trust the church either.”

“I’d say _no one_ should trust omnipresent, totalitarian based religions.”

“You’ve seen what the church is capable of.”

You were surprised when he didn’t respond vocally, not a shift or change in his blithe expression—nothing, save the push and pull in the deep dark of his eyes demanding to drag you down.

“I’ll ask again: What, exactly, are you trying to say?”

One beat, two, and you square your shoulders.

“The church cannot be brought down by force alone.”

He hums in response.

“Force and fight produces martyrs, produces zealots, produces… idolatry. Even the truth,” you gesture to the letters in Claude’s hands, “does nothing in the face of blind conviction.”

Another hum, his eyebrows narrow as his lips twinge upwards.

“The only way for anyone to change anything…” You trailed off, implications falling from your lips like stars, “is to tear it down from the inside and leave there no one who could possibly be in a position to fix it.”

Silence.

You stood perfectly still, eyes leveled with the Riegan House heir, refusing to give your ground. Claude was relentlessly difficult to read; his lax affect did not betray him even a single thought or intention. You wondered, cold and hard and calculated, how you seemed to him when you’d so brazenly shown your hand. How idiotic you must have appeared. One girl—one insignificant, fatherless child—wanting to implode the whole of The Church of Seiros. How utterly, totally foolish you must have seemed.

But you were every single, desperate inch your father’s daughter--and you would stop at _nothing_ to follow this through to whatever bitter end it would lead to.

“My thoughts, exactly.”

You reared back, shocked to see Claude grinning ear to ear before he pressed your letters back to his face.

“I was under the impression I would have to do most of the heavy lifting of this plan alone… but it appears that I don’t have to.”

All-bright green eyes catch yours and you watch his grin mold into something slick and sly that makes your heart drum in your ears.

“Seems we have similar goals, Lady [Your Name]. I hope I’m not being too bold in suggesting that we make this official and join forces.”

It was your turn to grin, an act too bright and too relieved to rival his. “Not at all, Lord Riegan. You are the only person in Fódlan who could even remotely hope to help me achieve something so impossible.”

“Now, don’t stroke my ego _too_ much, we’ve only barely gotten to know each other. And, please…

“Call me Claude.”

\---

You’re worried they’ll remember you. Perhaps, in your hope beyond hope, the years compounded on tragedy and trauma had worn the specter of you from memory. Like faded yellowing on the parchment of a book left too long in the sun—barely worth noticing.

Your journey to the Garreg Mach Monastery was uneventful, uninteresting, and almost mundane. The monastery itself, from what little you know of it, in addition to being the headquarters of the Church of Seiros, seemed to thrive off serving the wealth and nobility of Fódlan’s independent nations in the form of an Officer’s Academy. Well, _anyone_ can go, of course, provided they had the coin and the clearance and some _worthwhile qualities_. You knew what to expect, knew to look forward to the arrogance. Arrogance, not just from the wealthy or from the nobility, but from the commoners who felt themselves above their own people. How they laughed and chortled and vehemently agreed with the words of those so far removed from the population that suffered. How they truly believed that by bolstering the nobility that would mean they could become one of them someday. As if commoners could ever come into nobility by their own means, as if the system was not rigged to keep them subjugated.

You forced yourself to take a deep, staggered breath.

You knew, knew the moment your step-father muttered the words, that it wouldn’t just be the Leicester Alliance who would be holed up in these walls. Of course they wouldn’t be, Fódlan was comprised of three separate countries, all with their own power structures. For one, there would be those from the Adrestian Empire, led by one Princess Edelgard von Hresvelg. You were _very_ interested in her, in the words you held inside you whispered from the quiet of your childhood, but knew better than to indulge in those thoughts so soon. Then, of course, there would be those from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, under the watchful gaze of the young Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. A sole survivor, a boy against the world against himself, there were no shortage of songs cast against him from the mouths of wealth and nobility.

Surely it had been enough time… right?

You hoped so, anyway.

_I will carry your ghosts and they can live forever; I will build a home for them in me. Never forgotten, never misplaced. Please, let me take them, please—_

“You feeling alright, [Your Name]?”

“Of course.” Your response is too quick, too even, and you know without even looking that Claude doesn’t believe you. He probably wouldn’t show it, maybe even just rolled his eyes like you’d told him a joke, but he would make no visible show of his thoughts. Why would he even bother asking when he knows that you couldn’t possibly tell him any manner of the truth when you’re all moving your belongings into your rooms? 

“Well, try not to get too wrapped up in those thoughts. They can kill, you know.”

You resist the urge to growl at him, opting instead to stare pointedly. He shrugs at you and puts his hands up defensively before you say: “Claude, go sort out your room and leave me to mine.”

“I just wanted to check up on you! Unfortunate you had to have a room near the clergy, huh? Especially since there’s a spare room beside the little Blaiddyd prince’s right-hand man.” You tense at Claude’s words but try and make it look like it was because you were struggling with a box of your things.

“I don’t see an issue with having a room near the clergy and other students in the Officers Academy. Just because they aren’t directly a part of our house doesn’t mean they aren’t still students like us.” You grimace at your own words, not liking the implication of how you said _students like us_ , as if that needed to be explained.

“Most nobility would be rather cross about having to room near commoners.”

You stand to your full height quicker than intended and snap towards him with an almost full snarl, your body heating up upon looking onto Claude’s cool and calm face.

He was riling you up on purpose.

“You know, for someone who’s supposedly on my side, you’re sure not acting like it.” Your skin crawled, agitation still dancing in your chest. _Most nobility_ , _most nobility_ , **_most nobility_** —you throw one of your bags on the desk across the room. It clattered against the wood and shook the frame, candles and books toppling to the floor soon after.

“Hmm, seems nobility is a bit of a touchy subject.” You do not bother giving him a second glance, the deep quality of his laugh ringing in your ears soon after. “ _Very_ touchy, perhaps. I do genuinely apologize if I said something too rude, that wasn’t my intention.” 

You hum in response, gaze kept on the knick-knacks you could barely register as you took them out and stuck them onto shelves. “You know, _Claude_ , we’re in the same house, on the same side—you don’t have to try to pry my secrets out of me.”

Now it was his turn to be silent, back leaning against your doorframe as he watched you work. 

“No… I suppose I don’t.” Ahh, first lie you’ve been able to ascertain from him with any amount of confidence.

Then again, knowing what you know of Leicester, trust was in short supply no matter what house you hailed from.

“I have no reason to lie to you.” He doesn’t respond, you sigh and turn away. “Well, when you’re ready to have a real conversation, you know where to find me.”

You don’t turn back around until you’d finished putting everything away but, by the time you’d done that, he was gone.

\---

Water always calmed you.

Just being able to revel in the way the small waves lapped at your legs could fill you with a sense of peace nothing else was quite capable of doing. You aren’t sure why, you don’t have any memories tied to water, nothing so profound as a moment with your parents or a hideaway with a friend. You just… liked to run away to water. Liked to disappear to rivers and ponds and streams, liked to stick your whole body in the rushing currents. Unsafe, of course, for a child to wonder to rushing water in order to sit on the banks and resist the pull. You could’ve died many times, many ways, but you never did. 

Always pushing your luck, even now.

Already risking trouble as it was, hiding behind the pillar of the tall waterway that let fresh water into the pier and practically leaning your entire lower body into its currents. The skirt of your uniform was pulled up to not get wet while letting your legs sink in. You braced your feet against the pillar and leveraged the small of your back to the small ledge just below the concrete walkway behind it. Halfway in, halfway out—something you can guarantee you probably aren’t supposed to do. Luckily, there were a fair number of crates and wagons that were, probably, supposed to cut off this part of the pier.

That’s why you chose it, less likely to be bothered in a marked off area.

“Umm… excuse me…”

A voice thrills beside you, so close to recognizable.

You throw yourself forward enough to springboard off the pillar and back onto the walkway to your feet, legs slick and resistant as you pulled your skirt all the way down to cover them. “I’m sorry! I know I’m probably not supposed to be back here.”

“No, no, it’s my fault for frightening you! I was merely… concerned seeing someone hidden in the water, I was worried you could’ve been in trouble or—"

You keep your face down as you attempt to pat dry your legs with your hands, fingers trembling from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You don’t look up, you don’t want to, you know already know who it is.

“I apologize, I’m certain this is insurmountably rude of me to ask, but… what are you doing back here?”

Curious, so curious, you want to see what’s changed, the lines of a face and light in the eyes of a child you still see in your dreams, but you don’t. “I like the water, is all.”

“I imagine the bathhouse would be a safer option.”

“I need running water.”

Silence. You can’t keep pretending to dry your legs for much longer. “It… has to be running water, does it?”

“Yes.” Too close, this would be safer far away where features blur and twist. Why come so close to you?

“I see.” You could count the seconds in heartbeats with how loud they pounded in your eardrums. “Well… I’ll leave you to your recuperations. I sincerely apologize for disturbing you.” 

“It’s no problem.”

The rustle of clothing, a deep bow, then the sound of footsteps leading away.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you feel sick.

If ghosts could scream, they’d be doing it now, bellowing and echoing in the canyon of your mind. Maybe they’d be blaming you, maybe they’d urge you forward, or maybe they’d just want to give you torment.

But the dead don’t speak.

So you’re left with silence instead.

\---

“You cannot _possibly_ hole yourself up in here forever.”

You would say that Claude’s appearance at your bedroom door was surprising, had it not been for the fact that you’d spent the last week in self-imposed solitary confinement.

“Just until classes start, hardly “forever.”

He shook his head at you, hands on his hips as he did so. “The other house leaders and I are going to be on an excursion for a time, you can’t avoid the outside world while I’m gone!” With that, he burst wide your doors, stepping fully into the threshold of your room as they sung back behind him to close with a soft “click.” “Not to mention, it’ll be incredibly suspicious if you do so.”

“Obviously.” You say, cross-legged on your bed, needle and thread in your hand as you stitched. “Though, not _that_ suspicious, that girl Bernadetta from the Black Eagles house stays locked up in her room too.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that she doesn’t illicit suspicion due to her frequent bouts of screaming when she’s nervous.” You scowl at his words, weight on the edge of your bed involuntarily shifting you enough that you prick your finger. “You, however, skulk around in the dark and wade full bodied into the pier.”

“I stopped doing that during the day.”

“Yes, hence the “skulk around in the dark” bit.” Your scowl deepens but Claude just laughs. “Are you going to find notes and leverage in the water that’s going to bring down something as long standing and far-reaching as the Church or Seiros?”

“Of course not, I just am trying to keep myself calm.”

“I see, wouldn’t want you to lose than calm and turn into a monster, now would we?”

You don’t respond.

Claude pauses obviously, unease settling between you soon after.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You haven’t asked.”

“Didn’t realize I needed to ask questions I never considered needed to be asked in order to be told pertinent information.”

“It wasn’t safe to talk about in Leicester, you know that.”

“But it’s safe _here_?”

“Safer.” You sigh, stabbing the needle into the thickest part of your work before setting it down beside you. “All walls have ears. But I think these walls are too old to listen.”

“Then,” he gestures to you, “by all means.”

“I have a major crest.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that’s how House Sommer rose back into favor.” You shift at Claude’s response, hands pulling at the sleeves of your uniform as you did so. “Crests mean more to nobility than wealth in this foolish land, though one could argue that wealth should mean nothing to begin with.” Claude takes quick notice of your fidgeting form, all-bright eyes travelling over you before he began again. “But, even to have an heir with a crest, the House should not have risen to such prominence as it did.”

“No,” you choke out, “it shouldn’t have.”

His gaze catches yours, and you let out a breath. “Then…?”

“Claude von Riegan! [Your Name] von Sommer!” You and the boy break apart (when had you leaned in so close?) upon hearing the authoritative, furious tenor of Seteth. “You _know_ that dorm rules do not permit two students alone behind closed doors in any personal dorm room.”

“Where are people _supposed_ to talk privately then, sir?” The picture of cool, the absolute definition of lackadaisical and carefree, Claude smiles brightly up at Seteth’s frustrated expression. “In the private courtyard, where people _never_ are?”

“The monastery is not concerned with private conversations; it’s concerned with your tutelage and ability to take guidance.” You pursed your lips as Seteth turned to you, his glowering expression almost comical.

“Understood, Seteth. No closed doors unless it’s more than two people, got it.”

“That is _not_ , exactly, what I meant.” Despite his words, Claude had already sauntered past the man, leaving you with a dismissive wave behind him. “Are you listening to me, Claude? That is _not_ what I meant!”

You had, miraculously, managed to keep your affect level, but Seteth’s frustrated expression that had snapped in your direction was proving it mighty difficult to maintain. “Is there anything else, Seteth?”

“You haven’t come out to the dining hall since arriving,” you groan audibly, earning you a stern stare from the man in front of you, “it is in the best interests of the students to engage and converse with others, to build bonds that will be invaluable to you in battle.”

 _Battle_ , something you desperately didn’t want to consider.

“Of course, sir.”

When you made no move to stand, the man cleared his throat. “That means now, Miss Sommer.”

\---

And, now, here you were.

You instinctively pull down at the side of the slouched sock hat that you’d sown together from dark fabrics you had lying around. It wouldn’t do much, couldn’t change your features, but it could perhaps muddle them enough at first glance.

The line to get food wasn’t long, you were clearly one of the last people to get there, but you still felt weirdly exposed. You briefly wished Claude hadn’t sauntered off after Seteth came into your room, you’d at least have someone with you while you waited.

“Look! There’s still some pheasant roast left! Lucky for _me_.”

Your ears start to ring almost immediately, eyes sliding up to land on a slender back and expanse of braided blonde hair.

_She’s here too?_

Your heart sinks.

That could mean… they’re all…

“I’m going back to our table, okay Ingrid?”

_Ingrid Brandol Galatea. Fierce like fire and ready to fight, she liked to bury herself in fresh grass and always let you braid flowers through her honeysuckle hair._

You can’t breathe for a moment, emotions hit you like a hammer to the gut, but you manage to turn away just as she passed by. You think you hear rustling, a body turning back in question, but the feeling leaves quickly.

You barely look down at the food you choose, desperate to eat and run back to your room or to sprint and drown yourself in the pier.

 _No, stop overreacting_.

You can see the other members of your house clearly sat at the table at the far end of the room, but you doubt you would’ve had much trouble finding it anyway with Raphael’s hulking form being so incredibly easy to spot. You make moves towards the table when you get promptly railroaded by an impatient form barreling into you.

“Oh, sorry! I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

 _Another familiar face_.

You can’t worm your way out of this one, you’re right against him, and he’s looking at you with the kind of scrutiny only a man scouring the depths of his memory would have.

“It’s fine.” You dip your head down quickly, hands pulling the skullcap further down your face. “I should’ve been watching where I was going, sorry again.” You make a brazen attempt to dash forward when a lifted arm stops you from moving.

All the blood in your body rushes down, leaving you cold.

“Hey… don’t take this the wrong way, but…” You keep your gaze towards you table, mind begging someone to turn towards you. “You look familiar.”

“I-I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” You wish you were capable of sounding sure of yourself, instead of whatever the hell it was you _had_ been doing.

“You… sure?”

“Positive.” There! Hilda catches you gaze, you send her a panicked expression, she lists her eyes to the side and a knowing look crosses her face. That… certainly wasn’t what you expected.

“You really sure?” You nod again, wondering why on earth no one seemed to even give your situation a second glance. “I know! We’ve dated before, right?”

You went completely still, the hand you were using to block your face lifts. “… _What_?”

“Come on, you have to help me. Was it last week? Or a few months ago?”

“No, we haven’t _dated_ before.” You spit out, pretense shoved out the window just in time for Hilda to saunter up.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you have my classmate there!” Without even a second to consider, Hilda slaps the arm blocking you away and sweeps you into her grasp. “Sorry!” 

“Hey, _wait_!” Before he could continue, a resonate smacking sounds throughout the room, something the cafeteria _also_ doesn’t seem to pay much mind.

“Do you truly have no tact? Are you honestly _that_ much of an idiot?”

“Oh, come on, I wasn’t doing any—”

“I don’t care, get out of my way.”

“Felix, come _on_.”

_Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Eyes like the sun, cried like the world was ending over nothing, he would always ask you to paint butterflies and birds on his hands when his brother wasn’t around._

“Sorry about that.” Hilda says after a few moments, either not noticing or consciously not commenting on how pale you probably look. “He can be a real pain.”

All at once, the room feels oppressively small.

Hilda regards you for a moment as you both sit down, her expression even. “You know Sylvain?”

 _Sylvain Jose Gautier._ _Hair brighter than fire, would skin his knees almost every day crawling around in the dirt and leaves, he’d beg you to climb the trees near his house with him because you were the only one who liked them._

“No,” you lied, “I’ve never met him before in my life.”

You don’t think she believed you.

Before you could try to change the subject, you chanced a glance that you hadn’t given yourself a week ago.

There he was, every inch what you remember.

_Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Eyes the color of rushing water, believed every truth you ever told and every lie besides, would demand he hold your hand when you waded out into rivers and streams because he didn’t want you to get swept up alone._

“You… sure you don’t know him?” Hilda asks again, feigned interest belying something beneath the surface of her gaze.

“No.” You lie again.

You wonder where Claude is.


	2. reverence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! You may have noticed the pairing change--leave it to a poly person to instinctually make things poly. Just how it is, I guess. Also, I feel like I mentioned this before, but despite the pairing there will be flirtations and perhaps /other/ things in between. I mean, it's going to be a year of academy time and then five years in between that--people grow and change and do other things in that time!
> 
> I also just like flirting and mucking up the concept of friendship. I think it's fun.
> 
> ALSO: M!Byleth and F!Byleth are in this story, F!Byleth going by Bylese and M!Byleth going by just Byleth. These are close approximations to their Japanese names (Bylese, anyway). 
> 
> Anyway anyway, that's it! Let me know what you think!

A week had come and gone since you'd last seen them. A week since Claude left on his little expedition with little more than a “Don’t be suspicious!” and a wink. 

A week of, surprisingly, pleasant conversations with your housemates, specifically Hilda and Marianne. Hilda is always ready and raring to go, not in the literal sense as she would rather just lay in the grass and stare off into the distance then get up and go _anywhere_ , but in the sense that she loves to talk and she loves to intimidate people. The suitors lining up at her proverbial door are nearly endless (she’s _quite_ beautiful, afterall) but she could literally not care less about this. If anything, she seems to be more or less ignoring it for favor of spending time with you and Marianne.

If Hilda was all lackadaisical faire and lazy glowering, then Marianne was gentle words and clasped hands. She looked seconds away from fainting when she wasn’t praying or trailing behind Hilda. Her voice was always kind and quiet when she spoke to you, something she preferred to do as little as possible.

You’ve wondered, off and on, why they both sought the presence of your company so often during these times but you try not to give it too much thought. Maybe Claude mentioned something? Perhaps Hilda just felt that her saving you from Sylvain earlier meant that you needed someone to keep you out of trouble.

Maybe they just want to be friends.

A sobering thought.

A week of trying to be the least suspicious you can be while still making a complete 180 every single time you so much as get close to Ingrid, Sylvain, or Felix. You aren’t sure how obvious you’re being, as you tend to look around corners before you turn down them anyway, but several times you’ve quite unceremoniously rounded a corner only to about-face into a wall just to get away.

You are absolutely and completely sure that Ingrid has been paying attention, has been seeking out your eyes and your face whenever possible. Even Felix seems to pause his training or tirades to glance in your direction whenever you happen to get close. But you never go or let them come close enough, hat pulled down and hair kept back at all times. You’ve heard them ask questions a few times, but Sylvain is quick to blow them off and dramatically state that you were just a fling that they happen to remember. They don’t believe him, but he’s so dismissive about it that the conversation never lasts long before one or both of them are nearly throttling him where he stands.

You aren’t going to be able to hide from them forever.

You will have to face them eventually, have to find a way to approach and talk to them in a way that _won’t_ end awfully. Maybe not awfully for Felix or Ingrid, probably not even for Sylvain, but it will be nothing short of devastating for Dimitri. 

You wonder sometimes if, in the deep dark corners of his tortured mind, that one of the multitudes of ghosts that he’s haunted by could be you. If your voice and screams were part of the chorus that he was forced to endure. Maybe, if anything, your acknowledgement could at least be of some small benefit to him.

But, you know he’ll ask what happened, and you aren’t sure if you can tell him just yet.

“Did you hear?!” You see a couple of kids from your class ambling off towards the main part of the church as they spoke. “Some legendary mercenaries saved the house leaders from bandits while they were away!”

Your ears perk up, intrigue finding you as you decide to slowly follow behind them.

“That’s crazy! To think that random bandits would find the last remaining lines of power to all three nations of Foldan. That’s almost too much to believe.”

Your chest constricts. _Yes, that’s_ **_much_ ** _too much to believe._

“Heard these mercenaries are, like, feared all over Foldan too.” That catches your attention, more swirlings of memories prickling at your thoughts.

“Yeah, aren’t they, like, twins or something?”

You nearly run into a wall at those words, fear gripping you as the duo continue on.

 _There’s no fucking way, there’s absolutely_ **_no fucking way_ ** _._

Before you can stop yourself, you’re sprinting, uncaring for the way your hat jostled and the commotion you made as you did so. You’re bolting and winding through the halls and the corridors, barely muttering apologies as you burst into the large hall by the church.

And there they are, standing at the back of the room leaned in and whispering.

Hair as dark as nightshade and burning blue eyes, they were taller than you remember, the years compounding on each other to see them both now statuesque and hauntingly beautiful.

As if they could hear your thoughts, identical sets of eyes land on you from across the room. There’s a moment of stillness, like their minds were turning and churning and searching you out, before you turn back around and dart back into the hallway.

 _How_ ? How is it _possible_ that they would be here? How, on the list of things that could be humanly and supernaturally _possible_ , could it be that _they_ would be the ones to wind up here? Is this a joke? Is someone out there trying to orchestrate your downfall? Does the church know what you’re trying to do and is doing everything possible to set you up to fail?

“Tender bird persists.” You nearly shriek at the thick, feminine voice that hits your ears. You spin around frantically, eyes landing on the statue-like forms of the last two people you ever expected to see again. “Didn’t expect to see a familiar face.”

“Bylese.” You say quietly, eyes flickering to the man soon after. “Byleth.”

Something so close to awakening sparks in Bylese’s eyes as she looks at you but it quickly dies. “Surprised to see you here.”

“That should probably be my line.” You choke out, eyes darting around the hall uncomfortably. “Interesting chances that the mercenaries who save the royalty happen to be the two of you.” Your voice thrills low and brows crease painfully. “Am I being, like, cosmically punished in that every person from my childhood is popping up in this godsforsaken place?”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Byleth says suddenly, a ghost of a ghost of a smirk quirking the corners of his lips in an identical way to his sister. “I’d think you weren’t happy to see us.”

“Don’t start.” You near bark out, cheeks flushing as both the twin’s affect quirks almost mischievously before dropping to haughty neutrality. “And, if anyone asks, you do _not_ know me.”

“We’ll see if we can manage.” Bylese remarks, eyes catching her brother’s in a way that screams at you _run, run, run_ but you keep your feet planted firmly.

“You’d be more likely to let people in on it, though.” You bristle at Byleth’s words, teeth grinding.

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Ha ha ha. So fucking funny, I’m glad you’re both _living it up_.”

“We are glad to see you, though.” Bylese’s fingers ghost over your forearm, the sudden smile on her face causing you to flush again stupidly.

“Never quite forget your first friend.” Byleth’s fingers mimic his sister’s on your opposite arm. Your skin prickles and crawls and heats up, you blanch at the idea that you’re being cornered.

“And you call _me_ not subtle.” You take a step back, eyes darting around in near panic.

Silence.

Two beats. Three. You sigh.

“I’m glad to see you both, too.”

Smiles, eyes bright and light in ways that sing to your thoughts and memories, meet your words before identical sets of eyes find each other.

You tense immediately as footsteps echo behind you, your eyes flickering between the two as you stand straighter.

“Well well, looks like [Your Name] has met the heroes of the day.” Claude saunters up with the kind of aloofness that makes you wonder if he’d heard every word you’d just exchanged. “Getting to know some of the locals?”

“That’s what we were told to do.” Byleth says evenly, legs steady and chest proud. “Can’t say we’ve ever seen somewhere so…”

“Peculiar.” Bylese finishes, eyes caught on the movement of bodies out of a nearby window. “Can’t say we know anything about the church or its workings.”

“Surprising, and here I thought everyone knew about the Church of Seiros.” Claude seems surprised, bordering on intrigued, as he gestures around the area absently. “They do the work of the goddess, whatever it is they decide that entails.”

You snort obviously but try to cover it up with a clearing of your throat, something you’re sure no one believes. 

“I suppose I should thank you both for saving my dear House Leader here, shouldn’t I?” You smile as genuinely as you can, Claude watching you obviously from where he stands in your peripherals. “Thank you for saving him from himself, most assuredly.”

“The minuscule amount of faith you have in me is hurtful, [Your Name].” He responds, his affect and voice betraying the complete lack of such emotion as he continues. “I held my own against the bandits well indeed with the help of these two skilled mercenaries. Their skill on the battlefield is invaluable, something we students will be sure to benefit from.”

You narrow your eyes at Claude’s deliberate, particular wording.

“What do you mean “sure to benefit from”?”

“I really should be on my way.” He ignores you so obviously that you _know_ it’s being done to purposefully rile you up. Was there a reason he seemed to so gratefully enjoy making you mad? “Would love for us to talk later, exchange some pleasantries and all that.” His voice was thick and honey sweet, you can see both Bylese and Byleth’s brows twitch in confusion before he grips at your wrist softly.

You turn to him instinctually, something that makes you grimace and his grin spread.

“I’ll see you later.”

“We’ll see.” You retort, chest blooming with annoyance as he winks at you and waves pointedly at the twins before sauntering off.

Silence settles as you three watch him walk away.

“Interesting guy.” Bylese nods at her brother’s words, the twins attention snapping back to you almost immediately afterwards.

“Yeah, that’s not even the half of it.”

“You certainly respond well to him.” Bylese smiles again, the gesture lighting her eyes as Byleth’s expression soon follows suit.

“I have no idea what you both could mean.” You cross your arms over your chest, petulant and cut off, like a child playing at distance. “If you guys don’t stop being mean to me I’m not going to talk to you for the rest of the time you’re here.”

“If we do, is this permission to become friends here, too?” Bylese’s voice is neutral, the brief display of emotion presented to you fading like a star.

“Don’t know how much time you’ll have to do that, but I suppose.”

They both exchange a look and your stomach drops.

“What was that look for?”

“Byleth, Bylese, I--” Your head snaps to the side to see the barrel chest of one Jeralt Eisner, his bright eyes narrowing in remembrance before his affect falls in a way that highlights just how similar the twins are to their father. “I see you’re getting acquainted with the students here.”

“At least _one of you_ has some tact.” You mutter, gaze listing back to the two in front of you.

Identical shrugs meet you, their faces almost bored as their eyes fall on your face.

“Good to see you’re doing well.” Jeralt’s jaw looks tight, clenched, like he’s struggling just to get the words out. “What brings you to Garreg Mach?”

You swallow, chest feeling surprisingly hollow. “Step-father needs the accolades, you know how it is.”

How much do they remember? How much were they _told_ , now that you think about it?

He nods once, a man of few words and an understanding in reservation. “Hope your mother is well.”

“She’s fine.” Don’t need to lie about that one, though “fine” is a word you’d use for anything so long as it wasn’t dead.

The man stares at you for a few extra seconds, as if he was mulling something over in his mind. You maintain eye contact, whether out of respect or reassurance you aren’t quite sure, before he turns his gaze to his children. “Be sure to make conversation with more of the students here. You’re going to want to get to know them.”

He walks off then, the click of his shoes echoing in the large (and still interestingly empty) hall.

You turn back to the twins.

“Why do you need to get to know students at the academy?” Your voice pitches up, incredulous and distraught.

Identical eyes meet each other before they slowly, carefully fall back onto you.

“The archbishop asked for us to be professors here.”

\---

If there truly was a goddess out there, you think she hates you.

You argued with Byleth and Bylese for what felt like hours, pushing and pressuring them both to _not_ try and teach your class. They both seemed more or less agreeable but disappointed at your insistence that they maintain their distance for the time being. You felt guilt, it pushed and tested and kissed you just from the noticeably effected faces of the twins alone. 

You really don’t deserve friends. All you’ve ever seem to do is shove and hide them away.

Fire burns in you, renewed hatred and anger at a figured head and church who barely even know of your existence. Pushing morals and ideals and teachings while you’re told to kill, kill, _kill_ so long as it was in the name of the Goddess, so long as it was in the name of the church, so long as it maintained their _power_. The lives that lay wasted and forfeit seemed to swarm like locusts in your mind, to the point you did have to wonder if it mattered that the dead can’t really speak--if we give them voices in our heads, are they not still haunting us? Are they not still thrashing and screaming and lost? 

Rage that’s white hot and deep, deep dark swirls in you like a storm or a pit of snakes or an active volcano. All of them, maybe. 

They would sooner consume than lay dormant.

And you refuse to let what they consume be _you_.

“Heard you’ve been hiding from the little Blaiddyd prince’s friends.”

Claude truly never gave you a moment’s peace, did he?

“Claude, why does every word that passes over your tongue seek to start a fight?” You snarl, eyes catching all-bright green ones that seemed too-full of mischievousness. You sat by the edge of the pier, close to the carts and crates you’d pushed aside so many times before to slink off to wade into the water. Your eyes dart past Claude obviously, over towards the dorm rooms, and very obviously onto the back of one little Blaiddyd prince talking with what you are almost completely certain is Byleth. “And I’m not _hiding_ from anyone.”

Silence.

You relent. “I’m _avoiding_.”

“I forgot those were different, somehow.” He laughs, body sinking down to sit beside you, legs crossed while yours stayed dancing over the edge of the pier.

“I’m not in my room, so I’m not hiding.” You argue, grimacing at how your feet only barely tap at the surface of the water. You wouldn’t have to literally submerge yourself in the water so often if you could at least put your legs in from the edge. “Plus, they aren’t even in our house, I don’t need to talk to them. I don’t even know them.”

You aren’t being very convincing. Maybe if you’d forgone that last part you could’ve at least played at nonchalance.

“I heard an interesting story from the princeling on our trip.”

You groan. “Of course you did.”

His eye crinkle at the edges, the chuckle in his chest reverberating against the side of you that he nearly pressed himself to. Your entire body heats up involuntarily at this, the laps of water that are hitting your legs feel like ice in comparison to your skin now. You watch as Claude’s head tilts towards your ear, voice low and just for you.

“His friends are part of the nobility, he was raised with them from birth.” You nod unnecessarily, your gaze kept on the frigid waters picking up turbulence beneath your feet. “He used to be closest with Felix, second son of the duke, but there were some difficulties that left them at odds. He wouldn’t delve into what those were, but it must’ve effected him enough to be so candid in mentioning it.”

Your ears perked up at this, but you tried to hide it.

You don’t think you were successful.

Claude continues. “Sylvain was an interesting subject, another second son but he was given the rights to the title over his brother. A real bastard from what scant little the princeling was willing to part with, though those certainly weren’t the words he used.” You keep your expression even but your heart rate picks up, your face hot and teeth grinding. “Ingrid is from a failing noble house, was engaged to Felix’s brother before that nasty attack on the royal family happened. She harbors a hatred for Duscur because of this, evidently.”

“She really thinks it was Duscur’s fault, huh?” You let the words slip from your lips involuntarily, teeth nearly gnashing. “Stupid of her, honestly.”

Claude’s tirade pauses for a moment, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel the heat from his breath and almost see the all-bright swirling of green in his eyes without even looking over at him. You take a moment to consider what others would think if they looked over and saw you both like this. Think he was flirting? Think you both were playing coy with each other instead of gossiping about royalty and nobles and murder?

Claude’s flirtatious nature makes more and more sense to you now.

“There was another, you know.”

Your heart stops. “... What?”

“Another friend.” Claude’s lips quirk at the assuredly sick look that crosses your face at his statement. “A daughter of a loyal knight, the most dedicated and proud knight in his father’s command, evidently. The princeling actually went on and on about this knight, I guess he was like family to him as a child.”

Bile pools up into your mouth quickly, sour and nauseating.

“The knight died in a routine skirmish, his wife and daughter were never seen again.”

You nod, mouth downturned and eyes focused on the way Claude’s fingers wove and unwove around each other. “Too bad.”

“He said he’d always hoped he could find her someday, that she was alive.” Guilt, guilt, guilt and ghosts burning and seething and torturing you of your own desire and accord. “She liked to dote on him, take care of him, and didn’t care much for her own safety.”

At this, he leans down again, forcing your eyes to meet his purposefully.

“Said she loved to wade full bodied in rivers because she thought they’d carry the ghosts out of her.”

You scowl at him, eyes narrowed and expression heavy. “I swear Claude, if you said anything to him--”

He laughs, taking clear and obvious pleasure in cornering you. “Oh, that’s not my story to tell. I can promise you well enough, I said nothing to even entice the inkling that the friend he so mourns is you.”

“I had planned on saying something to you _and_ to them.” His eyebrows twitch, expression almost too even. “We’re going to be in this school for a while, they’d figure it out eventually.”

“And, yet.”  
  
“I didn’t expect them to **_be here_ ** , Claude! If I’d had even the slightest clue I probably would’ve said something earlier! Plus,” you take this moment to back hand his arm, a mocking groan escaping him as you do so, “you read those fucking letters, you _knew_ where I came from.”

“Coming _from_ Faerghus and being best friends since birth to a lion prince and his pride are _not_ the same thing.” Your scowl deepens at his words but Claude merely leans in to you as you lean away. “Seems you have a lot of secrets, wouldn’t mind hearing them sometime.”

“How about once _you_ start telling _me_ some secrets, I’ll return the favor? Though, I mean, you do so _clearly_ like to get them second hand so you can come be cute and cryptic and piss me off.”

Claude’s smile spreads wider. “Come be _cute_ , you say?”

“I also said you piss me off, so don’t take too much stock in that.”

“How can I not when you’re so heady and flustered in my presence?” He was still close to you, face inches from yours and breath nearly hitting your lips now that you’re facing him.

“Claude--” Your eyes dart to the side in time to see, just off in the distance and approaching, the clearly curious face of Dimitri. “This will have to wait until later.”

You’re grabbing your shoes and standing before Claude can even finish his sentence. “Too bad, we were having so much fun.”

“Sure we were.” You look down as Claude’s fingers graze the inside of your wrist.

“Let’s do this again sometime.” You grimace at him for the millionth time that day, pulling down your slouch hat before turning around to quickly make your escape.

\---

 _“_ _[Your Name]_ _, be careful!” You giggle at the boy’s timid words, small hands tense and flexing hard around your own._

_“Calm down, I’m going to be fine.” You barely have a change to step into the freezing cold currents before you feel the familiar tug of his hands. “Dimitri, if you don’t stop pulling me I’m going to let go of you.”_

_“No!” He shrieks, causing birds and rabbits to swivel and bob out of their hiding spots to run away. “I promised Ser Joshua I would p-protect you.”_

_You laugh at him, dropping it quickly when you see the way his bottom lip quivers and pouts. “Protect me? Dimitri, you’re tiny!”_

_He bristles at your words, blonde hair framing his face like curtains and flushed cheeks bright on stark white skin. You hated that he always looked at you like the sun rose and set on your word, it’s part of why you picked on him a lot. Every single thing you said, reverence shone in his eyes and it made you feel… weird. Wrong. Like you were pulling and playing with a glass statue--pretty and cold and fragile._

_But he seemed to_ **_like_ ** _when you’d push and pull him, so it’s probably okay?_

_“Father says royalty are supposed to protect their people!”_

_“That’s stupid, Daddy and the other knights go out and fight your battles for you guys. Being a king just means you get to decide who gets food and money.” You purse your lips, eyes catching Dimitri’s hurt expression as you kicked at the water that slushed past your legs. “I’m protecting you because you’re my friend, not because you’re some dumb prince.” You scowl, fingers wrapping around Dimitri’s instinctively. “I wouldn’t even be here with you without my stupid weird crest, you’d never even have known who I am.”_

_“Yes, I would!” You turn, eyes narrowed and expression exasperated. “I would’ve found you no matter what. You and Felix and Ingrid and Sylvain--I would’ve known to find you. I would’ve brought you back, I would’ve kept you here with me.”_

_“But would we have been able to find you, Dimitri?” You start, legs so close to freezing and eyes locked with the glacier gaze of the tiny princeling holding onto you for dear life. “If I were a crestless kid living in a tiny town with no food or warmth, do you think I’d be able to find anyone? Or, even here and now as we are, if I’m shipped off to marry some noble and get swollen with dozens of children so that_ **_they_ ** _can keep the food and warmth in their homes?” Something sick passes over his face as you talk, like he’d rather cover his ears than listen to you. “How can you even hope to keep us together when everyone is scrambling just to live?”_

_He doesn’t respond at first, but his eyes grip you and stay hard as ice._

_“Then I’ll just have to save everyone.”_

You’re scared he meant it, those words.

Scared you ripped him open and rearranged him inside, cutting off pieces and leaving him to figure out the rest.

You opened him up and left a hole for the ghosts to crawl in to.

The Tragedy of Duscur… how it had killed you and your mother to learn of the king’s fate, to hear about what had befallen him and his wife and so many others… How could they leave Dimitri the only one to survive? Didn’t they know what that’d do to him? How their corpses would be buried in his chest and haunt him? It was all you thought about for so long afterwards, all you could consider as you sat in your gilded noble home… just like you’d warned Dimitri of in the years before. 

Your head bobbed and smacked back at the stone pier, hands gripping up at the edge as your body sloshed and moved in the water. Occasionally a stray fish would wander by and slide past you, clearly used to your presence at this point, but other than that the water was surprisingly clear and untarnished. If anything, you regularly wading in the water was probably doing more damage than anything else.

Your mind travels back again, lost in a childhood you’d forced yourself to forget, when you remembered a very particular ghost.

Glenn. He was statuesque and kind and _so fucking proud_. The complete opposite of Felix, really, where the small boy was emotional and wound up his brother was steady and calm. It frustrated you, really, because he was always so particular with how he regarded Felix and Dimitri, both of whom thought the world of him. Maybe you just didn’t like that his presence undermined your ability to play with them, something that he vehemently didn’t approve of. You and he would lock eyes and glower, glower, glower. He didn’t like you, hated the way you toyed with Dimitri and Felix, chastised you like the world was ending. 

_“Like you don’t do the same to Ingrid!”_

_“Ingrid and I are going to be_ **_married_ ** _, you aren’t marrying Dimitri and Felix.”_

_“I could!”_

Unacceptable. Different. _You_ don’t get to play coy and accept reverence, especially not of the crown _prince_ and his darling _brother_ . Even worse, then, when you’d play with Ingrid, moments when he’d truly get angry at you. Would he ever hurt you? No, surely not, he was too _proud_ and too much of a _good shield_ to ever do something like that. But whatever fell just short, he certainly would do.

Ingrid would swivel and sway with a single breath from Glenn, something you absolutely couldn’t stand. Her hands were always searching and grabbing, she’d tug you along the dirt path and pull at the fabric of your clothes to bring you closer. She was always so ready to run and fall and press hard to your side as you hid in the flowers or the tall grass. She was smiles and whispers until Glenn would show up and she’d be soft and demure and _ugh_ ... _Pliant_. Ingrid was the only one who you could never so much as tear away from Glenn when he’d show up, something that coated your insides heavy and dark with irritation.

You didn’t really like Glenn all that much, he expected a lot of Felix even if it was just because he cared about him. Felix was soft and tender where everyone else seemed unwilling and stonewalled. He was small and ever so willing and he demanded the full attention of his friends to the point of tears. If he wasn’t crying for Dimitri or Sylvain or Ingrid, he was curling up to you and digging his fingers into your clothes like a lifeline. You liked to paint his face and braid his hair and smooth out the lines under his eyes with your hands.

Sylvain didn’t really care for Glenn either, though he never would’ve uttered a word of that where Felix could hear. You both thought he was a good guy, good brother, good knight--but duty always makes men _wrong_. Sylvain never wanted to have any sort of duty other than taking care of his friends, tried to be the protector in your place despite how you’d fight him. He was the only one who didn’t look at you with any sort of veneration or awe, which was why it was easiest to talk to him. Even then, however, he liked to wrap his hands in yours and wrestle you to the dirt when you played.

You’d never realized before, never let yourself have the thought or the inclination in so very long… but you missed them.

You missed your friends.

“Fully submerged this time, I see.” You nearly choke on water, shocked by Dimitri’s deep voice as he stood above you on the pier. You kept your head down, heart absolutely pounding in your ears. “You must truly enjoy the water.”

You take a moment to consider, then another, before you speak. “Yup.”

Quiet, silent but you can tell from the sound of wind rustling fabric that he was still there and looking down at you. Even in the dark, even without looking at him, you know he recognizes you now. Maybe after talking with Claude while he was away, maybe after seeing you with him talking at the pier, maybe at some other point you have no inkling of.

You aren’t going to get out of this one.

“It’s been a long time, Dimitri.”


End file.
